The Play Pretend
by humanveil
Summary: When fantasy meets reality. Set in s12e19: Bombshell. E/O. Oneshot.


**Title:** The Play Pretend.  
 **Pairing:** Elliot/Olivia.  
 **Rating:** Mature.  
 **Word Count:** 1,800.  
 **Summary:** When fantasy meets reality.  
 **Warnings:** Infidelity (and poor rationalisations of), unresolved sexual tension (aka, something starts but it doesn't get finished), Cassandra.  
 **Notes:** I usually like to stay away from infidelity, but I rewatched the episode last night and just… couldn't stop myself. Set in S12E19: Bombshell.

* * *

The lie comes easy—easier than it should, if Elliot is honest with himself. But he isn't, not on nights like tonight, not when they're like _this_ : undercover, together, walking the line between fantasy and reality. Tonight is about the play pretend. Tonight they dress up and cling to each other and no one gets hurt. Tonight is _this is my wife, Olivia_ , is linked hands and standing too close, is long looks and casual touches and no questions, no guilt, no judging glances. Tonight Elliot allows himself to forget, to take on the role completely.

"Olivia's lovely," Cassandra drawls. She's staring up at him, standing close to him; all hooded eyes and sultry smiles. No doubt a woman who knows and owns her own sexuality. "I'm a little surprised you're willing to, uh. Share her with anyone else."

She drops down onto the couch as she says it, her expression expectant, as if there's no other option but for him to follow. Elliot smiles, swallows the bitter taste of jealousy that rises. He wouldn't share her, he thinks. If he had Olivia, _really_ had her, he would never let go.

"I'm just trying to broaden our horizons," is what he says, and reminds himself that there's a case, a job he needs to do first.

He settles on the couch, tries to stay focused on Cassandra, to not think of the acts happening around him, of what the lounge would look like under a black light, of what Olivia is doing in the other room. It's easier said than done; harder to remain unaffected when his mind wants to wonder, when he's sat in a playroom, surrounded by naked bodies and sensual acts.

He stays put until Cassandra makes a move, until her casual touches take a south turn, until he has enough information that it's okay to leave. He backs away just as she's leaning into him, as her hand settles on his knee, her nails trailing further up his thigh. She gives him a disappointed look, sighs as he takes a step back.

"I need to, uh," he cuts off, clears his throat. "My wife."

Cassandra nods, forces a smile to her face. "You should come back when you're ready to do more than look around," she tells him. "I'll be waiting."

Elliot watches her settle back against the couch, sees her part her legs only slightly. What she's trying to do is far from subtle, and he wastes no time in leaving.

The smell of sex lingers even as he walks past the curtain and back to the bar, the tight ball of simmering arousal still lingering in the pit of his stomach. Elliot scans the room, finds Olivia standing at the far end, sandwiched between the couple from before. She looks beautiful, despite the obviousness of her unease. Her stance is tense, her shoulders tight, her expression one tainted with hesitance, but Elliot is still as in awe as he had been the first time he'd seen her that night. The dress, the whole look... it'd had him speechless.

He starts off toward her, zigzagging between those lingering around. She looks up when she spots him, a question lingering behind her smile, and Elliot grins at her.

"Hey." He steps near her, places his hand on the small of her back, the edge of his hand grazing the curve of her ass. Olivia turns to him easily, melts against him without issue, her head tilting to the side as he leans forward to press his mouth below her ear, the act an almost kiss. "You ready to go?"

Olivia nods, looks back to the couple. "Rain check?"

Elliot listens to the quick goodbye, his hand slipping into Olivia's as they walk away. They don't talk until they're outside, the harsh, night-time wind a stark contrast to the heat of the club. Elliot takes a deep breath, tugs Olivia in the direction of their car.

"You get anything?" Olivia asks him.

"A bit," Elliot answers. "You?"

Olivia hums, her smile almost playful when she asks, "Cassandra make a move on you?"

Elliot laughs, the sound short and airy. "One or two," he says. "Why do you think we left so early?"

"She couldn't seduce you with her charm?" Olivia teases. "The way I hear it, that's rare."

Elliot shrugs, squeezes Olivia's hand. "Not my type," he says, though it's utter bullshit. He isn't sure he has a type, just knows his mind had been fixated on another brunette when Cassandra had sat next to him. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"The dynamic duo," Elliot supplies. "They get anywhere?"

Olivia laughs, her head shaking. "Not my scene."

"No?" The car is in view, now, the hood shining beneath the low street light. Elliot stops beside it, his hand still intertwined with Olivia's even though it no longer needs to be, no longer should be. He pulls her hand close, uses his free one to trace the fake wedding band. "You're faithful to your husband, huh?"

This game is one they've played before: something dangerous and thrilling, something that threatens to break every boundary they've put in place. If Elliot is objective, it crosses almost every line, but he's not. Here, now, as he presses Olivia against the car door, the rest of the world doesn't matter; the guilt a tribulation saved for later.

"Until I find someone better," Olivia answers. Elliot can see her slip into the act, the tilt of her mouth tantalising. He bends down, lets his lips brush her jaw for a second time that night.

"Is that so?"

"Mmhm." She lets go of his hand, slips it beneath the lapel of his jacket. "What about you?" she says, her voice quiet. "You think you could do it?"

Elliot knows she means in general, not just in this scenario. His answer is still the same.

"No," he tells her. His voice is low, gravelly, the word whispered right into Olivia's ear. "I'm too territorial."

Olivia leans back against the car door, presses her hand against Elliot's chest, her thumb smoothing over the open collar. "You don't own me, El."

"I know," Elliot murmurs. He pulls back, reaches to brush Olivia's hair from her face, his palm cupping her cheek. The pad of his thumb ghosts across her bottom lip, her gloss sticking to his skin. "But the jealousy would still eat me alive."

It's an admission and it isn't, and he doesn't give her time to answer. Instead, he presses forward in the next second, captures Olivia's lips with his own. The kiss is slow, sensual, scorching, the taste of Olivia's mouth sweet and welcome. Her teeth graze his bottom lip, her tongue slipping inside, and the arousal he's kept at bay all night rises to the forefront, makes his body itch with the urge to _take._

Where they are, hidden in plain sight, it's easy. Elliot reaches down as Olivia reaches up, her arms winding around his neck as his fingers slip beneath the hem of her dress. The fabric shifts easily, bunching around her thighs, and Elliot presses his hand between the heat there, his fingers grazing the wet fabric of Olivia's underwear. His lips pull to a satisfied smirk, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint when he pulls back to meet Olivia's eye.

"Lace, huh?" His voice is more breathless than he'd like it to be, but Olivia doesn't seem to mind. Elliot feels her grip tighten where her hands hold his shoulders, sees her mouth part in a small _o_ as she gasps in pleasure, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of her underwear to press inside, rub against her clit. "For me?"

"For _me_ ," Olivia answers. "I like how they look."

She leans forward as she talks, presses her mouth to his neck. Elliot arches into it, tilts his head to offer Olivia more room, never once stopping the movement of his own hands. Opening his mouth, he gets halfway into asking if he's allowed to see when the vibration of his cell cuts through his voice, brings the both of them back to reality.

"Who?" Olivia asks, and Elliot pulls back a little to grab the device from his pocket, sighing as he reads the caller ID.

"Cragen," he tells her. He can see the disappointment flash behind Olivia's eyes; knows the look is mirrored in his own.

"You gotta answer it."

Elliot nods, darting forward to press his lips against hers one last time. It's quick, almost chaste, the kiss swallowing Olivia's soft groan as Elliot removes his hand from between her legs. "I know," he says. He presses the _answer_ button, puts the phone to his ear. "Captain."

The fantasy fades as Cragen's voice comes through the receiver, Elliot's arousal lessening with it. Olivia stares up at him, her hand still resting on his arm, her expression one of concentration as she tries to listen in on the phone call; the sound of their CO's voice bringing the both of them back to their work mode.

"Get anything?"

"Yeah." Elliot clears his throat, tries his hardest to sound normal. "Something about a girlfriend."

"And the wife," Olivia whispers, her voice hoarse, soft enough that only Elliot can hear.

"And the wife," Elliot repeats. "We're on our way to talk to her now."

Olivia steps off the car's side and reaches into his pocket, taking hold of the keys. Elliot listens as Cragen rattles off more instructions, fills him in on what the rest of the squad had found out while they'd been busy. He hums when he has to, tries to make a mental note of the information, but his gaze is fixed on Olivia, on her hands, on the way they tug her dress down.

"The wife?" he asks once he's off the phone.

"A frequent visitor of the SwingSet," Olivia tells him. "Turns out Mrs. Bullard wasn't completely honest with us."

"Surprise, surprise." His voice is a sarcastic mutter, his cheeks puffing as he inhales, exhales. Looking at Olivia, he tilts his head, almost as if to say _I'm sorry_. "You good to go?"

Olivia nods, places the keys in his hand. Elliot catches her wrist, keeps her from turning around and opening the passenger door. He sees her glance at his hand, at his fingers: still glistening, the skin almost sticky with the evidence of her arousal.

Elliot stifles another sigh, brings his fingers to his mouth, his tongue slipping out to taste her. "Maybe tomorrow night," he says.

Olivia smiles, laughs. It's small, breathy; almost sad. "My darling husband," she murmurs, giving him one last look before turning on her heel and reaching for the car door.

Any remnants of their fantasy shatter as Elliot moves for the driver's seat.


End file.
